“What a funny little brown jug!” said Sammy.

“Greeny is inside; close your hand gently and see if you feel him.”

“How cold!” said the boy; and then:  “Oh! oh! he is alive, for he kicks!”

In June Greeny and Blacky came out of their shells, but no one saw them do it, for it was in the night; but Sly-boots was more obliging.  One morning Miss Ruth heard a rustling, and lo! what looked like a great bug, with long, slender legs, was climbing to the top of the box.  Soon he hung by his feet to the netting, rested motionless a while, and then slowly, slowly unfolded his wings to the sun.  They were brown and white and pink, beautifully shaded, and his body was covered with rings of brown satin.  Blacky and Greeny were not so handsome.  They had orange-spotted bodies, great wings of sober gray, and carried long flexible tubes curled like a watch-spring, that could be stretched out to suck honey from the flowers.

At sunset Miss Ruth sent for the boys.  She placed the uncovered box where the moths waited with folded wings, in the open window.  Up from the garden came a soft breeze sweet with the breath of the roses and petunias.  There was a stir, a rustle, a waving of dusky wings, and the box was empty.

So Greeny and Blacky and Sly-boots “took their wings and flew away,” and the boys saw them no more.

CHAPTER II.

The patchwork quilt society.

The minister’s wife came home from a meeting of the sewing society one afternoon quite discouraged.

“Only nine ladies present!” she said, “and very little accomplished; and the barrel promised to that poor missionary out West, before cold weather—­I really don’t see how it is to be done.”

“What work have you on hand?” Miss Ruth inquired.

“We have just made a beginning,” Mrs. Elliot answered with a sigh.  “There’s half a dozen fine shirts to make, and a pile of sheets and pillowcases, dresses and aprons for four little girls, table-cloths and towels to hem, and I know not what else.  We always have sent a bed-quilt, but this barrel must go without it.  It’s a pity, too, for they need bedding.”

“Why, so it is,” said Miss Ruth.  “Susie,”—­to a little girl sitting close beside her,—­“why can’t some of you girls get together one afternoon in the week and make a patchwork quilt to send in the barrel?”

Susie put her head on one side and considered.

“Where could we meet, Aunt Ruth?”

“Here in my room, Susie, if mamma has no objection.”

“Certainly not,” Mrs. Elliot said; “but are you well enough to undertake it, Ruth?”

“Yes, indeed, Mary; I shall really enjoy it.”

“And would you cut out the blocks for us, and show us how to keep them from getting all skewonical, like the cradle-quilt I made for Amelia Adeline?”

Amelia Adeline was Susie’s doll.